


Christmas in July

by ladyknightley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-War, festive fluff, in july
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 03:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19348963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknightley/pseuds/ladyknightley
Summary: Harry gets a floo call to tell him that Ginny's been injured at work, but all is not quite what it seems...





	Christmas in July

**Author's Note:**

> I was prompted last summer (sorry!) to write a fic about Ginny being injured at work. Last summer, it was actually sunny. So this happened...

It was the longest spell of genuinely hot weather Harry could remember for a long time. Day after day after day of unbroken, blazing sunshine followed by hot, sultry nights. It was _fantastic,_ the kind of once-in-a-generation British summer you heard about but didn’t really believe actually happened. It had also coincided with the quietest part of Ginny’s year: July was between the end of the old Quidditch season, and when training started up for the new season, so she hardly went into work, and, by sheer luck, things were as quiet as they ever got in the Auror Department, too. He’d mentioned this to Ginny the other day, while firing up the barbecue for the eighth day in a row. “Too hot for crimes,” she’d responded, fanning herself with a copy of _Witch Weekly_.

He was glad. The quietness, combined with the lovely weather, meant that even Gawain Robards was happy for his staff to work at home, as long as they were on call in an emergency. So far, the only emergency Harry had had to contend with had been when they’d headed over to the recently reopened Fortescue’s ice cream parlour only to find out they’d run out of their new Treacle Tart sundae.

Apart from such traumas, he and Ginny had been having a brilliant couple of weeks with each other and with the weather—amazingly—set to hold, he saw no reason for this not to continue. They’d taken Teddy to the seaside a couple of times, but had spent most of the rest of their time at home, just enjoying summer in the city and being together. It was bliss.

Unfortunately, the nice weather meant that he had really been letting his paperwork slip. Realising he had an overdue and extremely important report due that afternoon, Harry had announced his intention to Ginny that he needed to knuckle down before lunch, but that he’d be free later if she wanted to do something. She’d replied vaguely that she, too, had things to do this morning, so he’d very dutifully shut himself in his study with a glass of ice cold lemonade. All had been going well, until a sudden loud crash, accompanied by much swearing, made him pause. “Everything okay?” he called, sticking his head out of the door and calling up the stairs.

“All good!” Ginny’s voice floated down to him, so he returned to work. Except, a second later, he heard, quite distinctly, jingle bells.

Probably just Ginny shifting a few things around upstairs, he reasoned. She’d mentioned the attic, where they kept the Christmas decorations. She must be looking for the other sun lounger which they’d been meaning to dig out for days.

The jingle bells persisted. And then...surely not? That couldn’t be the Celestina Warbeck Christmas Album? _Surely_ not?

But Harry recognised the wailing, and, when it continued, decided to investigate.

“Oh, hello,” Ginny said, beaming at him as he entered the spare bedroom. “Come to get in the mood, too?” This alone would have been ridiculous enough; the fact that she was wearing a reindeer hairband (complete with strap-on bright red nose), tinsel in an assortment of colours draped around her like a several scarves and an absolutely enormous Christmas jumper, left him all but speechless.

The jumper wasn’t even one of the nice, normal ones Mrs Weasley made for the family every year, it was an oversized novelty one which came with a light up Christmas tree and the slogan ‘you’re TREEmendous’ on the front. It was, in short, hideous. He remembered telling her this when she’d bought it, last November. Never one to shy away from the festive season—Ginny was the biggest Christmas person he knew, and would probably have started singing Christmas songs and putting up decorations at the end of September, if he’d let her—she’d immediately purchased it and worn it nearly every day until New Year’s. Though Harry had since completely forgotten about it. Ginny, it appeared, had not. But that still did not explain why she was wearing it in July, in the middle of the hottest, longest heatwave they’d enjoyed in years.

“Promo day!” she exclaimed now, when prompted. Harry frowned in further confusion. “We’re shooting all the new season promotional material for the Harpies tomorrow,” she explained. “As well as the usual team stuff, we’re doing a themed calendar, for charity. The first team and the five main reserves are each get a month and are photographed in suitable seasonal poses for that month and it’s bunged together in a calendar, which goes on sale late this year, all profits to charity. I’m December. I swear I told you about this the other day.”

Harry realised, too late, that she had indeed explained it all to him the other day. The only thing was, she’d done so wearing her brand new bright red bikini and so he hadn’t really been paying her _words_ too much attention. He’d made a joke about it being the sort of calendar where she would wear said bikini, and she’d pretended to be affronted and said no, it was very classy, that they were going for comedy value and she’d be wearing her Christmas jumper.

Now, looking at the jumper again, and seeing how it stretched nearly to her knees, he saw what she meant.

“Wait a minute, though,” he added. “You _just happened_ to get December?”

Ginny grinned. “I did ask,” she said. “But everyone knows how much I love Christmas, so, really, it couldn’t go to anyone else. I’d have gone off to join the Cannons in a huff if they hadn’t allowed it.”

“Well, I’m glad that you work with people who are good enough to understand your Christmas obsession,” he said, laughing. “But really, this is ridiculous. It gets earlier every year, you know!”

“What does?” she asked.

“When the decorations come out, when you start with the Christmas songs...” he gestured towards her, still laughing. “Honestly! Last year I said mid-November was too early. Now, it’s July! What’ll it be next year, March?”

“Nah, next year we just won’t bother taking down the decorations, and we’ll have them up year round,” Ginny replied, shaking her head. “You’ll see, you’ll come round!”

“It’s too early! The rules say the first of December, and—”

“The _rules_? Who are you, the Christmas Police? _Percy_?!”

“Percy?! Too far, too far!” he exclaimed, and lunged towards her, trying to lasso her with a strand of tinsel. And then, of course, it descended into something else entirely, and the report did not get written.

* * *

The next day, he was making a much better go at it. The heatwave continued, but the weather had clearly put Gawain Robards in a good mood as he had very graciously allowed Harry and extension on the report.

Having packed Ginny off with her hideous jumper, the ridiculous reindeer headband and an enormous cardboard box containing much of their Christmas decorations (“I can’t trust the PR team to bring out the good baubles, you know?” she’d said, looking determined) he had actually used the time to work on the report. Dull as it was, it was at least done, he realised, feeling pleased as he checked his watch. It was nearly lunchtime, which meant that Ginny would be done soon. Perhaps they’d go down to the beach at Shell Cottage later, maybe pick Ted up, too...

As he thought this, he heard the floo spring to life in the other room, so he put down his quill and sauntered in. “Mr Potter?” he heard, while still in the hallway.

He broke into a run.

For security reasons, only a very small number of fireplaces were connected to the floo at his and Ginny’s place. Most people who had access were either related to them, or might as well be. None of those people would address him as Mr Potter. The only people who might would be someone from work, contacting him about an emergency, or someone from the Harpies, calling about—

“Harry. Hi.” Gwenog Jones’s face, looking grim, was sat in his fireplace. “Listen, you’d better come through. It’s Ginny. She’s in the medical wing.”

* * *

“What do you mean, she just collapsed?” Harry demanded of the photographer, who shrank back, alarmed.

“I dunno!” he replied, wringing his hands. “She was just there...on the broom...and then she wasn’t.”

Harry gave him a withering look. He was seriously contemplating suggesting that the Harpies’ PR team fire him and replace him with his assistant, who had had the foresight to place cushioning charms on the ground to help break Ginny’s fall while also summoning the medical team. Nicola—the assistant—had explained that they had been trying several different poses but had eventually decided on one where Ginny, decked out in Christmas attire and the Harpies’ signature cape, flew up to the Christmas tree to place an angel at its top. They had done this quite a few times, as the photographer hadn’t been satisfied with any of his shots so far, when Ginny all of a sudden slumped forward and tumbled off her broom in a faint.

She had come round, somewhat, before being stretchered into the medical rooms, at which point Gwenog had been dispatched to fetch Harry, who was listed as her emergency contact. Now, he was with Gwenog in the waiting room, and the photographer and his assistant had just come in. Nicola looked genuinely concerned about Ginny; the photographer looked more concerned about the possibility of his having damaged the Harpies’ star chaser and the impact of this on his future work for the team.

“So d’you reckon she’ll be back today, or should I pack up my equipment?” he asked. Fortunately—for him, or Harry might have punched him—one of the team’s Healers stepped into the waiting room, and he and Nicola made themselves scarce.

“All is well,” she said, holding up her hands to both Harry and Gwenog’s demands. “Mr Potter, I presume?”

Harry nodded. “Ginny’s okay?”

“She is, yes. My name’s Hannah, I’m the lead Healer for the Harpies. We’ve run various tests on Ginny, but it seems that what happened was simply a benign case of heat exhaustion,” she explained. “With the weather being what it is; the multiple layers she was wearing; the airlessness of the room and the photographer’s lighting charms, it seems that everything got a bit much for Ginny and it caused her to faint. Fortunately, the cushioning charms meant she sustained no other damage, and now we’ve cooled her down and ensured she’s got plenty of fluids inside her, we have no concerns about this being anything more serious.”

Harry exhaled hugely. “Thank you,” he said fervently, but Hannah brushed it off.

“Not at all; it’s my job,” she said simply. “As I say, we’ve cooled her down and she’s getting plenty to drink, but we’ll want to monitor her vitals for another hour or so before you take her home. She’s to not overexert herself, and remain cool and well hydrated for at least the next twenty four hours but this is certainly nothing long lasting. Of course, if you become concerned about anything do get in touch immediately, but there is nothing to worry about at this stage.”

“Can I see her?” asked Harry.

“Of course,” said Hannah, gesturing for him to follow her. Gwenog indicated that she would remain where she was and give the two of them some time together. Harry was glad—even though he was fully assured by Hannah that this was nothing more than a mild case of heat exhaustion, his alarm had been considerable and he wanted to see her to know she was _really_ okay. It wasn’t the first injury she’d had at work, and it wasn’t the worst, either, but even so, the panic he had felt when Gwenog first appeared in his fireplace wasn’t fully gone even now.

Hannah led him down a long corridor, but he could see into Ginny’s room as the door to it was open. She was sat up in bed, wearing a hospital gown, but seemed quite perky; she was holding a large glass of iced water and laughing about something with another medical attendant. She waved at Harry, spotting him coming up the corridor, and he resisted the temptation to break into a run and hurl himself onto the bed next to her.

Once they arrived, Hannah explained to Ginny that they would want to monitor her vitals for another hour or so but if everything remained as it was, she’d be able to go home at the end of that hour. “However,” Hannah added, picking up a clipboard suspended in mid-air, onto which a quill was making continual notes, “everything looks fine to me. Call us if you need anything, but I’ll leave the two of you alone for now.”

“Thank you so much,” Ginny said, looking between Hannah and the other Healer, who nodded. “I’m so sorry to have been so much trouble, but you’ve both been wonderful. Thank you.” She sounded, to Harry, just as she normally did, and he was almost completely certain that she would be fine.

“Just doing our jobs,” said Hannah, brushing this off, then the Healers left.

“Thank Merlin you’re okay,” Harry said, barely waiting until they were out of the room to dive towards the bed and gather her up in his arms. He inhaled the smell of her, that familiar, floral smell which brought him so much comfort, and held her close for several minutes. Just being there, sat on the bed with her, was enough to soothe away the last vestiges of panic.

Eventually, he broke away, leaning back, only to be confronted by a look of utter moroseness on her face. She seemed so upset that he was immediately catapulted back into a state of panic, looking around for Hannah and her team of Healers, certain that she must be in more pain than she was letting on. “What is it, what’s the matter?” he demanded.

“Oh Harry,” she replied, in a near wail. “It’s terrible!”

“What is, what’s the matter?” he asked. “Do you need me to get the Healers?”

“I’ll never live it down,” she continued, as though he hadn’t spoken.

“What? Oh, no, of course you will. Everyone gets a little overheated every now and then, and fainting’s perfectly normal in that situation. As long as nothing more serious is the matter, and the Healers were sure that you’re fine other than that, then I don’t see—”

“It wasn’t the falling off my broom,” she said, waving the hand holding the water glass and nearly sloshing ice all over him. “That would happen to anyone who fainted. It was the heat.” She gestured over to the corner of the room, where a chair was piled high with her clothes—the Harpies cape, draped over the back of it; jeans; a tank top; and the enormous, hideous Christmas jumper.

“I’m not surprised you got too hot in all that,” Harry said. “It’s thirty-three degrees today, plus whatever else inside that room with all the photography equipment. Honestly, it was irresponsible of them to—”

“Harry!” she said, widening her eyes dramatically. “You don’t understand! It’s Christmas. It’s _betrayed_ me!”

“...what?!”

“I fainted because I got overheated, and I overheated because I was wearing my _Christmas jumper_! Christmas has betrayed me!”

He laughed out loud at the distressed expression on her face. “Well, if you want to get technical, I guess it was just that one jumper that betrayed you, not Christmas as a whole, and really if you are going to wear an enormous great big woolly thing on the hottest day of July, I really don’t—”

“Christmas! Has! Betrayed me!” Ginny cried, ignoring his reasonableness. “ _Me_! I will never live this down,” she added dramatically, then reached out and clutched his arm. “Promise me one thing, Harry.”

He raised an eyebrow, trying to keep a straight face.

“Promise me...” she closed her eyes and sighed dramatically. “ _Promise_ me you’ll not tell George and Ron. They’ll never let me forget it!”

He laughed, all set to agree, when a thought suddenly occurred to him. He pursed his lips, sitting up straighter on the hospital bed, and Ginny shrank back against the pillows. “Uh oh,” she said quietly.

“I promise that I won’t tell anyone about how you got heat exhaustion because Christmas betrayed you—”

“Oh, _thank_ you darling, that’s just what I—”

“If you,” he continued loudly, interrupting her interruption, “ _if_ you agree that, this year, Christmas does not start in our house until the first of December. Last year, we practically had the tree up the day after Bonfire Night—”

“That’s an exaggeration!”

“Only a minor one,” Harry said. “Seriously. Christmas begins on the first of December. No decorations, no songs, no gnomes dressed up like angels, no light up jumpers, _nothing_ festive until the first. After that point, anything goes. If you can stick to it, I’ll not say a word to anyone about today. If you can’t...” He trailed off, giving a faux-nonchalant shrug.

She exhaled forcefully, blowing several strands of hair around her face and glared at him. “You are _so_ going on the naughty list this year.”

He winked. “That’s what I’m hoping!”


End file.
